


through the looking glass

by mochacreams



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Introspection, Platonic Soulmates, References to Canon, Snippets, Spoilers, Unreliable Narrator, can also be read as paz feeling what her alternate universe self goes through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochacreams/pseuds/mochacreams
Summary: Paz Ortega Andrade stares at the Milky Way through the skylight above her bed and hears the name Pacifica Ocean.two peace for amelia, loosely based onthislovely art by her.
Relationships: Kazuhira Miller & Paz Ortega Andrade
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	through the looking glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amelianreasons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelianreasons/gifts).



> i wrote this for one of amelia's drawings!! kinda short but i hope you like it amelia!!! definitely check out her [tumblr](https://queen-of-bel.tumblr.com), she's just the sweetest and has some amazing artwork!!

Paz Ortega Andrade stares at the Milky Way through the skylight above her bed and hears the name Pacifica Ocean. 

(Well, that's not entirely true. She hears it in her mind, invading her thoughts, ringing out in an echo as if the person speaking was in something made of metal.)

It's strange, because nobody would think that's a name—but Paz knows it is, first and last, not some sort of mispronunciation. The words come to her all at once, but when her lips move to repeat them they're slow like molasses. 

_Pacifica Ocean._

How odd it is. 

She's not a body of water, she's peace.

* * *

Living in Santa Monica has made even Paz's fair, sensitive skin tan a bit darker (which, on its own, is a miracle). She hadn't even gotten sunburnt in the process. Her skin tone must make her blonde waves and chilly blue irises stand out even more—she's noticed there's more men to scold for flirting, too.

At noontime, she heads to a street near the pier for lunch.

Admittedly, she hasn't really explored the boardwalk area since moving here a few months ago. Her coworkers at the boutique only like to take her downtown on breaks and late weekends, but recently something's been calling her to the sea.

_The Pacific Ocean._

She shakes her head, though, beelining to the curb where there's a row of parked foodtrucks. The strappy, black platform heels on her feet clack against the asphalt (she wished sometimes that work dresscode was a bit more casual; the stylish jeans are comfortable at least). 

Before she even knows where she wants to go, or even realizes her legs had wandered on their own, she's standing in front of a bright chartreuse truck. ~~As if she were drawn there instinctively.~~

The soft, warm aura had sucked her in as if it was a whirlpool, a spiral; but now that she's staring at it, standing so close, it's like those comforting waters had gone cold. Something feels… _off_.

There’s only a few people in front of her, so curiosity gives in and she waits in line, all the way at the back, eyes lingering on the menu—so it’s a burger place, huh? Not her favorite, but by the looks of things it seemed like a popular stop, with the rush just dying down. 

It's hard to focus on the list of items, even when there's only a few options; she's reading it but not _understanding_. Paz pours over the words over and over, still unable to decide. 

The line shimmies forward—she's nearly up. 

Her fingers fidget with the soft fabric of her red croptop, arms hugged close around her chest. 

Each step that she takes, a deeper pool of dread builds in the base of her stomach, curling it up into knots. Like sludge filling up her body, seeping down her throat and choking her, before poisoning her organs from the inside out.

This anxiety is a feeling she's never felt before—where is it coming from, all of the sudden? It's like if she gets any closer to the truck, she'll be closer to death. 

Whoever's in front of her spews out their order, which is all white noise in Paz's ears, and hands a clump of cash to the man in the truck before walking off to wait.

 _Her turn_.

Paz steps forward and looks up.

The man behind the counter has blond hair gelled back and gold-rimmed aviators with black lenses—so dark that she can't see what his eyes look like. His sweatpants are in the same yellow shade as the truck, as is the baggy shirt under his apron that wrinkles over the waistband. 

He is handsome, yes, but—something in her gut jumps up, gnaws at the inside of her stomach. 

Somehow, he's familiar. _She knows him_. But where? She can't recall. Must've been someone she'd passed by, or someone who she'd seen in the city…

He feels like a friend.

Yet, at the same time, Paz feels like he's the enemy, too.

Since she'd been silent, the man asks over the sizzling of the patties behind him, "What'll it be?"

And she swears when he looks down at her, his brows furrow and he frowns, before his expression quickly turns joyful again. But Paz notices, she knows she does, and as she's staring into the void of those black shades she feels time stop.

Clearing her throat, her arms fall to her sides. "I want you to pick for me."

"Huh?"

Paz raises a brow. "You heard me. I can't decide, so you surprise me."

She's fishing through her wallet when he says back, "Of course. A strange request, but I'll do it for a beautiful customer like you. That'll be five bucks."

The laugh that comes out with her snort is almost palpable. Paz hands over the money and their hands touch briefly—the contact making that strained atmosphere melt around her until it dissipates completely.

How strange it is. 

She waits to the side in what feels like a state of limbo, unsure of what to think. 

In just a few minutes' time, another employee hands off the burger to her from another window, clad in a golden wrapper with black text.

When she sits down on the curb, peeling it back to reveal the burger, she catches the name: _Miller's Maxi Buns_.

So he's Miller, huh?

That's right; he is. That's his name, and as it echoes in her mind when Paz takes a bite, she can't help but think that it suits him.

* * *

Lately, events come to her in flashes. 

Things that she's never experienced before creep into her dreams.

_Drowning._

_Her wrists in chains._

_Blistering clusters of pain in her abdomen._

_...A helicopter crashing._

These visions could easily be discounted as nightmares—but afterwards the sensations feel so real, as if they had actually happened.

Like faded memories.

Every morning when Paz wakes up following these blurred bits of someone else's life, there are always tears in her eyes.

* * *

The beach calls for her again, and so she visits it again on Sunday. 

It's drizzling a little tonight, but this is the only time she's free this weekend. It's better than nothing, though, so Paz had slipped on a bright scarlet rain poncho before heading out.

The evening sky is already dark since the sun had set an hour ago, but the plump, gray clouds make it feel even gloomier. Not many people are out and about on the boardwalk, not with most of the rides and stalls closed.

Paz squats down at the shore, where the calm waves meet the golden sands. Her black rainboots sink into the wet sand, the water flowing up to her ankles and splashing. The rain droplets aren't falling as rapidly as they'd once been minutes ago. Holding back the sleeve of her sleek coat, Paz dips her fingers in and swirls them around, then submerges her whole hand. 

Those icy blue eyes close, listening in only to the gentle lulling of the water crashing lightly at the divide, and the patter of the raindrops.

...Until a soft melody floats through the air, making her thin brows crease. 

Barely audible, but it still causes Paz to open her eyes in inquisition, turning her head from side-to-side in search of the source. 

It's the sound of an acoustic guitar, in the direction of the pier. A guitar strummed by experienced fingers, the sweet music notes lingering long after the fingertips moved on to another string.

The song is something she'd heard in her dreams. A tune that comes easy to her, its lyrics forming on her lips as she mouths them silently.

Paz finds the boardwalk, and skips up the steps, the melody becoming clearer and clearer. She follows the notes that get louder and louder.

At the edge of the dock, on the worn-out wooden planks of the pier, a man with blond hair and sunglasses sits with his legs dangling. The guitar gripped in his hands is old, but still in good condition—not as glossy as it once would've been. It's chipped in some places, with some spots of water damage. 

She approaches from behind, humming to the song, as if to make him aware of her presence. 

But Miller's already calm, already seems to be aware; he stops strumming and tilts his head slowly, a smile on his face. Paz pulls down the hood of her poncho, and dares to inch a bit closer. 

Letting the guitar dip into his lap, Miller pats the spot next to him. "Why don't you come sing with me? I think it's a song you already know."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading~ let me know what you think in the comments!!
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/togeklssu)   
>  [KOFI](https://ko-fi.com/mochacreams)


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